He saw her once more, as he was hauled up, the sense almost gone from things. He saw it, or thought he did. The brightness of her. The brightness of her, and then the dark. London, 1893: high up in a house on a dark, snowy night, a lone seamstress stands by a window. So begins the swirling, serpentine world of Paraic O'Donnell's Victorian-inspired mystery, the story of a city cloaked in shadow, but burning with...